


proposal

by Antartique



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sreng Gautiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23219479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antartique/pseuds/Antartique
Summary: Sylvain is more Sreng than Faerghus, and Dimitri worries about the right way to propose.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 154





	proposal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yurileclerc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yurileclerc/gifts).



> Written for the gift exchange in one of the Dimivain servers. Lots of headcanon. Have fun.

_Marriage_.

That word means so many things, in so many languages, in so many cultures; marriage, the bond between one and another, to share a life until the very end. Marriage, such an odd concept to exist: why do two people need to be married if they love each other?

Well, Dimitri knows why. Once again, his desk is filled with profiles of ladies of high court, from all over Fódlan and outside the continent. _The people need a Queen_ , they say. _The people want hope_ , they say. Nevermind that Dimitri is in love with one person only, and that said person loves him back. Nevermind that he already has a child that will carry his line, nevermind that the young princess is already ten and has been presented to the people.

_Marriage_. Such a troublesome word, especially for him.

To the Church of Seiros and Adrestia, _marriage_ is a sacred bond. Two people promise each other for eternity before the Goddess, through an exchange of promises and a physical item that joins them together. Rings, usually, as they are easy to carry and show and hide. But that is the Church of Seiros, as an institution, because they like keeping things organized.

In Southern and Western Faerghus, _marriage_ is a bond of warriors. It is a promise to be each other’s blade and shield, through an exchange of weapons, a promise to always be within each other’s reach. Ornate weapons, functional weapons, any kind of weapon exchanged in the proper way can be a promise of _marriage_. It is an unbreakable promise.

In Eastern Faerghus and most of the Alliance that still practices old traditions, _marriage_ is a contract through magic. The exchange of magically charged items, and a promise to stay loyal to each other, with no lies or secrets between them. They can be two, or more, or a web of various unions, so long as they are all in agreement with each other. It is also a sacred ritual that joins the souls together, may they stay together in the next lives.

In Almyra, _marriage_ is also a contract, though more literal this time. They trade holy scripts, written through traditional means, listing the agreements behind the union—really annoying to argue for and against certain things, or so Claude claims. In the ancient civilization of Zanado, _marriage_ was an exchange of bells, so they may always know where the other is so long as it is in this world —or, so Byleth says, and Byleth is the only person in the world apart from Seteth and Flayn that still practice those ways.

Dimitri does not know of the traditions behind marriage in Dagda, or Brigid, or _Sreng_. And that there is the problem, because the person he loves is more Sreng than Faerghus, made of tundra and flowers and beautiful stones.

Northern Faerghus —only Gautier really, never followed the norms of the country. They exchanged weapons to please their partners if they were from anywhere else, but their customs are much different than Faerghus and anything Dimitri is familiar with. He knows, as he has always known Sylvain Gautier better than anyone else except maybe Mercedes, that his lover wouldn’t mind a traditional Faerghi wedding. He wouldn’t mind _not_ having a wedding, so long as their union is clear. He wouldn’t mind Dimitri taking a wife, or a number of them, so long as they can be together.

Yet, Dimitri wants to do things right, and that is why he must study.

He has a ring, as tradition of the Church. He has a lance, ornate and proud, as tradition of Faerghus. He has asked Annette to help him craft a magical bond, and she delivered a pair of rings to be kept under their pillows.

Of Sreng, he knows nothing.

There isn’t much literature in Srenge culture. They do not keep records like Fódlan does, and their knowledge is passed through parents to children through the oral tradition. Gautier had, in the earlier century, compiled the history of Sreng and some of their traditions, but it is _not enough_. What use is it to know the name of each Warlord and their domains, if he does not know how to propose right?

He asks.

“Sreng?” Dedue looks at him like he has lost his head, even as little Alina pulls at his hair. The princess sits on his shoulders, her golden hair bound in a braid, and she babbles something in Duscurian that Dimitri does not understand yet. “My King, if I may ask— why do you need to know about Sreng?”

“It is Dimitri,” he corrects immediately. Alina repeats his name, and he reaches to get her in his arms. A precious lady, little princess, _his_ daughter. “Sreng is… important to Sylvain.”

“Ah.” Dedue nods as if that explains everything; maybe it does. The rituals of _marriage_ in Duscur are also a mystery to Dimitri, but he knows it involves flowers and earrings. He should ask, one day, but Dedue has never shown interest in formalizing his bond with his beloved. “Duscur… do not get along with Sreng. They are- _were_ invaders of another kind.”

“You do not know, then?” He should have expected this, considering the animosities between the Northern tribes in the past. What he does _not_ expect, is for Alina to tug at his hair and whisper in his ear:

“I know, I know.”

Dimitri doubts. However, as Alina starts speaking in quick Srenge, he remembers that she is his daughter as much as she is Sylvain’s, and she spent more time in the frozen wild when younger than in Fhirdiad.

Maybe she knows. He will have to trust that she knows.

He has two sets of rings, a lance, an earring with a single stone and a _cup_. He does not understand the cup, but it needs to be handmade, needs to be _this_ big, needs to be painted like such, and he broke around a dozen half-made ones before finally getting one he liked enough. It isn’t perfect, but apparently no one expects them to be perfect —Alina said it was good enough the first time, but then she broke it, so he tried again, and then _he_ broke it, and it went like that for a while.

The earring he commissioned from a lady with red hair and Srenge features, too young looking for her age (he didn’t dare ask). Her name was Anna, not quite like the Anna in the Monastery: hair darker, eyes sharper, rough accent. He had asked for a _guiding earring_ , whatever that is, and she had given him an odd smile and shown him some pretty stones. He thinks that, by now, everyone knows he is proposing _the Sreng way_.

The stone he picked was a turquoise, and it has been polished into a smooth tear-like shape and wrapped in thin threads of silver. It is beautiful, not like his _cup_ , but what else can be expected? He has never _made_ something with such a material, and clay breaks so easily.

So now he has two sets of rings, a lance, a guiding earring and a cup. He still has doubts about the cup.

Alina stands beside him and just a step before Mercedes, while Dedue stands behind and left of Dimitri himself. She is swaying on her toes, humming a tune he recognizes from Felix’s mother, and she is adorable.

She wants to watch. _Everyone_ wants to watch, it is like the whole court gathered just for this. Townspeople are gathering by the road, and soldiers try to keep them off it. Felix and Annette are in the group of nobles standing behind them, as is Ingrid with Ashe, and everyone else. The rumour spread too fast for Dimitri to be able to do anything about it, and now everyone is here.

Dimitri himself has his rings and earring in his pocket, the lance strapped to his back and the cup hidden carefully below the folds of his cloak. He is nervous, tapping his foot on the snow and pretending he is _not_ nervous and that Glenn isn’t laughing at him from above Byleth’s shoulder. Father is also watching, though he is just standing there, solemnly holding his head in his hands. Dimitri is grateful for the support.

Finally, after what seems like ages, Sylvain’s carriage makes it past the people and to the castle’s gates. Sylvain himself is riding besides the carriage, waving at everyone he sees in his path, and laughing, and he looks _beautiful_.

Beautiful. Perfect. Wonderful.

Sylvain stops right before the gates and jumps off the horse, some showmanship of his mastery for the masses, and they cheer. They cheer so loud, in so many languages, because now that Fódlan is back to normal again everyone can live their own cultures. Everyone, even the Duscurian people in the side, even the flaming red Srenge to the other side, even the few Adrestian townspeople who were passing by.

“What is this, what’s this welcome, what did I miss!” Sylvain acts like the master of his own stage, even as he makes his way down the path of soldiers and maids and butlers who bow to him. He looks curious, winks to some, greets others by name. He hasn’t changed a bit since the past three months they haven’t seen each other.

“My-,“ his voice catches in his throat, and Dimitri thinks he might cry. He might cry if this goes wrong, might cry if Sylvain says no, might cry if he breaks the cup he worked so hard on or bends the rings or the lance with his monstrous strength. He swallows, and tries again. “My beloved, welcome home.”

“Home I am, we had clear skies—“

Sylvain goes silent when Dimitri presents him the cup. The crowd goes quiet. Nothing can be heard but the sound of his own heartbeat and Sylvain’s quiet gasp, the crunch of steps on snow. Dimitri takes the lance too, and also presents it to his lover, his partner, his other half.

“I—“

“Yes.”

Sylvain’s voice is but a whisper, right in front of Dimitri. His eyes are clouded with tears, and his hands tremble as he takes the cup in his hands and lifts it to his lips. It is empty, to be filled later, but for now it is only air —shared breath of life, and safety, and _home_.

“Yes,” Sylvain says once more as he takes a sword from under his cape, offering it to Dimitri the way rituals say. Direct eye contact, a brush of fingers against his palm and no more as he hands the weapon with his right hand to Dimitri’s left.

It is still quiet in the city as Sylvain takes out a ring, and presents it on his palm to Dimitri. It is still quiet as Dimitri slides his own ring onto Sylvain’s finger, and finally twines their fingers together.

It is still quiet until Alina cheers, and then the whole city roars in celebration.

_Marriage_ is a bond for life, from one to another. A promise of protection, of safety and of confidence. Marriage is for those who live happy lives and have hopeful endings.

They? Maybe they don’t have either, but they have each other. And that?

That is enough for them.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Alina** : she is Dimitri's biological daughter with Mercedes. Mercedes offered. Do not ask.  
>  **Guiding earring and cup** : My Sreng believes in the stars and in the life of water. The guiding earring represents the stars, the cup is _shared life_ and when they are proposal exchanges are kept in a special location and rarely used. Sreng cups and drinking glasses and anything else is _really_ really personal, drinking from one that is not yours can be considered an insult. Turquoise is the Gautier ancestors' colors.  
>  **Everything else** : This is the same worldbuilding as Treatise, so everything is the same as in there.
> 
> Honestly, kinda tired of the world. Come find me over @ ReunLuet on Twitter if you want to watch me cry about everything, and also to talk about cute things.


End file.
